


Prep School

by fawatson



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Highlights of Ralph's first term at boarding school</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prep School

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toujours_nigel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/gifts).



> **Prompt:** (a) Ralph's childhood (b) Ralph at school.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them. 
> 
> **Author’s Note:** The alternative words for the carol: “Hark! the herald angels sing, Beecham’s pills are just the thing,” come from a late 19th C advertisement. 
> 
> **Acknowledgements:** (a) Many thanks to my beta reader; (b) There are more stories set in this universe at: http://maryrenaultfics.livejournal.com/
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

Arrival

Ralph followed his father, bewildered, into the main entrance hall. The school seemed huge, especially compared with the day school he had attended last year. Just past the door were three tables with masters in black gowns sitting behind them; signs with letters of the alphabet had been tacked to the wall behind each table: A to H, I to P, Q to Z. Ralph followed his father to the middle queue, standing obedient and quiet until they got to the front. 

“Name?” asked the master. 

“Lanyon,” said Father. 

The master peered over the top of his half-moon glasses while he leafed through a box of files. 

“Ah, here we are.” He pulled a folder out from the box and opened it. “Ross Ralph Lanyon,” he said, with a brief glance at the small nervous boy in front of him, before he turned his attention to the father. “He appears to be the youngest but one this year. Never mind; I am sure he’ll grow out of it.” The master smiled at his little joke - a crocodile’s smile, Ralph realised: showing all his teeth but not reaching his eyes. 

“He’s in Romans. Down to the end of the corridor, and turn right. You’ll meet Matron who is settling the new boys in.”

Ralph looked up at his father, holding tightly to his hand, as they went off in a different direction, heading further into this strange place. Someone jostled him, brushing past as he moved far too quickly for the crowded hallway. A heavy bag caught his legs _hard_. He stopped suddenly, pulling away from his father, and stood still - alone. 

Surprised, Mr Lanyon paused and turned around. 

“He called me Ross; do I _have_ to be Ross now? I don’t like Ross.” 

“Of course not, old chap,” came his father’s reassuring reply. “That was just a clerical error; they’ll sort it out.” 

“What if they can’t?” 

“ _I_ can,” said Father, “it’ll only take a minute.” And it was all right then. 

Settling In

They made them all write letters back home once a week, on Wednesday. They were posted (second class) Thursday morning, so parents could receive them in the Saturday morning post. The first week Ralph had had _lots_ to say. He was a Roman, which he understood was a _good thing_ to be. The Romans, after all, had civilised Britain. There were three other houses: Normans, Saxons, and Picts. His scarf was red; the Normans had dark blue; Saxons were light blue. The Picts’ scarf was green. He’d found out who was the youngest boy in his year: Hugh Treviss, who was a Norman. They’d been fierce fighters and beat the Saxons so it was all right to be a Norman too. He didn’t think Hugh was very fierce though as he blubbed at night; even from the next room he could hear him before he went to sleep. On Sunday they joined the big boys from the College over the road at church. When he was bigger he’d go there. 

The second week there wasn’t really anything much to say though. He’d said it all last week. He said as much and was told not to be cheeky. Matron said his mother would be missing him and would worry if she didn’t get a letter. Ralph wasn’t quite so sure about that; his mother seemed more interested in his baby sister these days. But it was a rule and none of the others in his year seemed to be having any difficulty (except Edwin Hooper who didn’t know how to write _at all_ and seemed a bit slow) so Ralph put pen to paper. He said Matron was nice and the steak and kidney pudding wasn’t as nice as at home (too much kidney and not enough beef); but the treacle pudding was grand. He put an X and an O for hugs and kisses at the end. 

The third week Ralph showed Hugh a mouse he’d caught and slipped in his pocket. It got away and Matron screamed and jumped on a chair. He got six of the best for that; and had to stand to finish off his letter. But it had been awfully good fun to see everyone run round like that!

Half-term

Father had written his house master to explain he could not come to school to pick him up; Mr Grainger had arranged for a boy from the College who was going to the same destination to look out for him on the train and see him safely into his father’s care at the other end. Jefferson’s mates had sneered about him being a snotty nosed twerp; but Jefferson himself had been pretty decent about being lumbered on the journey, and even shared some sherbet lemons. 

Home had been strangely different. Mother still told him to be quiet; but she didn’t seem to check up on him as much as she used to; she said she was busy with the baby (who always seemed to be crying). Father was usually at work and had no time to play; but Granddad had him over for a scrumptious tea and they played cricket one afternoon. The highlight of the week came when Uncle Jack’s ship docked; he took Ralph down to the docks to introduce him to the skipper and show him round. The next afternoon he took Ralph sailing on a dinghy. He got thoroughly wet and had a whale of a time. Uncle Jack said he was big enough to be of real use nowadays; Ralph glowed with the praise. But Mother had been upset and said he ruined his shoes; and Uncle Jack didn’t come round again. 

All in all Ralph wasn’t sorry when his father saw him off in the train back to school on Sunday afternoon. Once again he was given into the safe keeping of Jefferson for the journey. After they ate their sandwiches; Ralph offered a share of his liquorice whips and Jefferson reciprocated with humbugs. 

Old Boys

One Saturday they all went over to the College. His parents hadn’t come to visit, but a lot had; and they had to help out serving the ladies tea. The First Eleven from the College played the Old Boys. One ball went really wild and headed toward the table he was standing beside, so he caught it and threw it back. The Games Master for the College said he’d bowled a googly and asked where he’d learned. 

“My Granddad taught me,” Ralph said. “He said it brings chaos to the enemy.” Clearly Ralph wasn’t quite sure what this meant. The Games Master just laughed and said he’d look out for Ralph when he got up to the College. 

End of term

The Singing Master from the College came over one day to teach. He told Edwin Hooper to just mouth the words so he looked as if he was singing but said he didn’t want to hear another note out of his mouth. Ralph he just nodded to, and put him to learning a couple of carols like everyone else in his year. However, it turned out Hugh Treviss had a decent singing voice. “Very pure,” the master said, and he arranged extra tutoring for him. Hugh was pretty matter of fact about it and said all the chaps in his family were musical. The Prep School joined the College for a Christmas concert at end of term. The night before they had dress rehearsal with the big boys from the College who taught him the rude words to the carols. 

“You mean to say you don’t know!” jeered the College boy. 

Wide-eyed, Ralph shook his head. 

“Well I never did.” The older lad was clearly flabbergasted. “Look it’s a tradition. We do it every year. Practice it straight when old Steamwhistle – that’s Mr Stimson to _you_ \- gives you lessons. But on the day, you sing, “Hark! the herald angels sing, Beecham’s pills are just the thing!” Just for the last chorus, mind. You do it straight up till then. Got it?” 

Ralph nodded. 

The next day, along with the rest, as Ralph belted out that last chorus in front of the audience, he looked for his parents in their seats (they were in the fifth row). Mother looked shocked; but Father just grinned back at him.


End file.
